All Hallows Eve
by Quite Silent
Summary: Its a year after Memphis and its halloween. He doesent think his little starling should be alone...or alive for that matter. COMPLETE! Thanks for sticking with it.
1. Santy Clause Suit

Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of Mr. Harris's Characters. He owns the all in full….Though it would be convenient to rent them for a small fee of….well lets not go into detail. (I also do not own Tim Burtons characters from The Nightmare before Christmas.)

            The soft sound of laughter filled the streets as if lightly set down by the hands of autumn. The gentle, setting sun's glow tinted the air a color of pale orange. Tiny figures seemed to be swept out into the street by the soft bursts of cool air. The brown, orange, red and yellow leaves of the old oak trees were pushed from their wooded homes and into the darkening neighborhood. As the street filled with the essence of night candles, porch lights and carved pumpkins were lit, casting a soft glow upon the smiling faces of children.

            It was Halloween and everyone was enjoying it but Clarice Starling. She sat with one leg tucked under the other, a manila folder on her lap, consisting of three inaccurately written physiological profiles written on Dr. Lecter. With the street suddenly darkening, Clarice found it harder and harder to read with every minute. She bent down from the off white bench she was sitting on the grab the candle and lighter that were resting near her blue front door. After it was lit Clarice starred thoughtlessly at the small, orange flame. The air began to smell intensely of ginger bread. Finally deciding it was enough light to read by. "Is mentally incapable of making since even to ones self." Clarice read aloud, her mouth hanging open in a yawn.

            "Who the hell wrote this? What a son of a" her voice broke off as she spotted the biggest blob of children she had ever seen, not including her few visits to the local elementary school on a case, coming towards her. Standing before her were fifteen little kids, each yelled "Trick or treat" at what seemed to be then exact same time. Clarice arose to her feet and reached back for the small bowl of candies as she examined the children's costumes. There were three witches, two ghosts, one hulk, two mummies, three vampires, one butterfly girl, one Charlie Chaplin, one bum and…Clarice stood still, dead in her tracks. The fifteenth child was dressed as Dr Hannibal Lecter. She blinked furiously until the boys costume came into the clear of her mind. He was dressed as an evil clown, with a mouth guard not to much unlike Lecter's.

            Clarice quickly shoved the last handful of candy into the young boys bag and smiled half heartedly as the fifteen children skipped off into the night with there parents. Clarice looked slowly down to the lime green bowl in her hand. It was empty. _Perfect._ She thought. Now she could finally get her mind off of Lecter and onto something truly entertaining. Clarice hurriedly opened her front door after putting the small candle out.  Locking it behind herself she walked into the kitchen which was to her immediate left. She opened a dark brown wooden cabinet revealing a small box of popcorn packages. She removed one and put it into the microwave. She then ran, full sprint into her living room jumping onto her red couch, bouncing up once just to be met face to face by one of her red cushions. She laughed loudly as she sat up examining the row of video tapes set across her coffee table. "Hmm…Which to choose…Nightmare on Elm street? No…Halloween 1…or 2? NO!! Friday the 13th? Nah…Texas chainsaw massacre? NO! I'll start with the easy stuff." She decided out loud, picking up the video cassette of "Tim Burtons The Nightmare before Christmas.

            Just as she pushed the video cassette into the VCR the microwave timer went off. She bolted into the kitchen, found a small purple bowl and poured half of the bag of popcorn into it. She walked this time slowly back to her couch, careful not to spill anything. She sat down and prepared to watch one of her favorite movies. About half an hour later there came a loud tapping on her front window, making her turn in surprise. The bowl of popcorn had been long gone and now lay on the floor. She looked back to the TV once the tapping stopped.

            She watched the screen as Jack and Sally discussed Jack's "Santy Clause" outfit. The loud tapping once again started up, seemingly getting louder with each rap. She stood and paused the movie, walking to the window assuming it was a teenager trick or treating late just to annoy people. She opened the shades a little to find a tall dark figure. She could tell it wasn't a female, but she couldn't see its face. She tapped back on the window signaling for the person to go to the door. Near the door was a short white dresser which in the first drawer concealed her .45. She opened and laid her hand on the gun just incase. She opened the door slightly and quickly said "I have no more candy sorry." She began to close the door when a strong hand interrupted the process.

            She had removed her hand from the gun when she was shutting door and was caught off guard when the door was held open by the person outside. That caused her to loose balance just as she heard a horrifyingly familiar, metallic voice say "that's not what I want Clarice." She turned trying to reach for the gun but had a chloroform soaked cloth shoved over her mouth and nose. She finally reached the gun and slowly brought it to the intruders head just as she passed out and began to fall to the ground, dropping the gun to the floor by the intruder's feet. The last thing she remembered feeling was two strong hands catching her as she fell.

A/N: Ok if I get positive feed back ( reviews) I will continue.


	2. 279

Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of Mr. Harris's characters. Just to let you all know. (Plus…I don't want to be sued.)

He stood over her, his eyes fierce and weathered. Clarice's thin uncovered figure shook and jerked in the cold of his newly rented cabin. His heart pounded as he watched her quiver, now in his arms. He brushed a few strands of red /brown hair from her face and kissed her cold forehead. Just as he began to pull away her eyes opened and she let out a blood curdling scream. "What the fuck Jack?!?!?" she yelled struggling to get up. She was immediately dizzy and was pushed back down by her boss Jack Crawford. "Calm down Clarice" he tried to keep her still as she struggled, getting dizzier with each movement. "Let go of me Sir!" _Damn what the hell is he doing with me in this cabin…How long have I been out?_ She struggled more only to be knocked powerless with the butt of her own .45. She was laying on a soft futon, her eyes slightly closed in pain and confusion.

_God Starling_… she thought…_what the hells wrong with you? Who knows what he did to you, and you still call him sir?_ Her thoughts were interrupted with Crawford's voice. "Starling don't try anything unless you want to be sick or hit again." He threatened into her ear. "Jack" she whispered in anger, her voice rising with each word. "What in hell's name are you doing, you basterd!" the last word came out as a scream. He only smiled at her, his teeth seemed yellow and uneven. She switched her weight from her back to her side, flipping over on the oversized brown futon. Looking towards the ground she witnessed her own blood falling from her cheek. Jack pushed her back over forcefully, shoving her hand into the edge of the futon, severely cutting the back of her hand. She yelped in pain making Crawford laugh. "Why you're here is I was the one who was meant to catch him. I was the one who was going to figure it out. But you had to catch him. You bitch! You stole my fame! My bragging right!" he pushed down on her entirety, making her scream again.

"What the fuck are you talking about Jack?!?!?" she yelled pushing him off of her for a split second. "You stole my fame Clarice I was supposed to put the clues together and catch Gumb!" He yelled into her face, spraying her with saliva. Finally she gave up all together and just laid there, motionless, starring into the eyes of the one person she admired, the one person she thought was truly good in the world. He wouldn't let her move, or reposition herself on the futon. "Please Crawford, let me at least try to warm myself. I'm freezing." He nodded at her request and smiled just as he had when they were in normal circumstances. "I'm so proud of you Starling," He paused. "Clarice." She slowly wrapped her thin arms around her slim body. She tried to seek as much warmth as she could from her over sized "Altoids" brand shirt and blue jeans. _Maybe if I talk to him and try to reason this out he'll let me go, or I could find out what's wrong this isn't healthy…_ she thought as she began to warm a tiny bit.

Half an hour after Clarice had uneasily fallen asleep Hannibal Lecter emerged from a dark corner of the room. He stood in front of her and Jack, still in his Black jumper holding his old mouth guard in his left hand. "Good work jack. I didn't believe you were capable of such a deed." Jack looked up staring into the maroon eyes of the man that he believed to be the definition of crazy, and psycho. "Just don't hurt her anymore than I already have. She doesn't deserve this." He said standing up slowly walking towards Lecter.

A/N: ok once again I will wait to continue further until I get Five good reviews. Then I shall willingly and joyfully continue.

Tata-H.R. (Qs)


	3. How to survive corn

Disclaimer: you know…these get OLD. BUT I do not wish to be sued. So…..I suppose I shall include this. So here it goes…I do NOT own any of these characters… and…yea…I think you get it.

(Capitalization) Third chapter, please enjoy, if feasible.

A deep, chilling wind blew over her pale, dew covered body, slightly freezing her into the muddy, matted stalks of corn. She suddenly awoke, quivering with the cold of late fall turning into winter. She had been unconscious for several hours, the drugs still at work. Before standing she assessed her surroundings. She was lying on her back in a patch of mud, and was closed in on all sides with corn stalks, each grown tall and thin, birthing with yellow ears of corn. She slowly stood and took a better look around. Her back and hair were saturated in mud and little brown chunks of ice that stuck to her skin. She looked herself over, she had been stripped and redressed; she now wore a brilliant maroon ball gown, its layers of fabric reaching around her. She felt naked to the world in its spaghetti strap top, being unprotected by her usual black or blue business suite.

Hannibal Lecter stood on a small land bridge he had built himself into the corn field; he was the only one who knew the small path to it. To his eyes he held a pair of sleek binoculars, his hands gloved and warm. He slowly lowered the powerful binoculars and looked to the fog sifted skies, his eyes shiny with the morn. He had slept but half an hour, his time cut short by his interest being caught up in the thought of his little Starling and they game they would soon play. He had missed her child like manner, he discovered as he watched her peer around the corn stalks as though the very devil was hiding behind one of the thin, ill looking stalks; she seemed to fit in amongst them, thin and alone, she only stood out because of the maroon dress she was so elegantly draped in and her eyes.

Her eyes. He could see them as clear as day, even without the binoculars pressed to his cheeks. They were a crisp blue, they told her story, her sorrows; all without her knowledge. She was always trying to play the soldier, the one true person with no fear, no doubt, but her eyes… They were the roads into her true thoughts. Through his sleek, black binoculars he looked at her, making sure to check her hand and cheek, both of which he bandaged up. He was still in a sense of aw, mesmerized by the way Crawford had been able to hurt her with out flinching a single time. "I wouldn't want to be in a cell with him" he though chuckling silently at the untruth of his thoughts.

She began to look around, not sure of her surroundings. "Find out where you are Starling, Better yet find out where HE is, before he finds YOU." She thought her arms down at her sides in a straight line, as though there were boards tied to them. She took one last look at the spot in the field in which she stood. Slowly she pushed her way into the thick jumble of corn stalks.

A/N: ok once again. This time three good reviews and I'll continue. Also I would like to know (if you don't like it) what I could possibly improve it.


	4. As the harpie turns

Same stuff as usual: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS.- the end.

(By the way this story is set after Silence)

**DyranHunter**, I am sorry my chapters are so horribly short. ('') next chapter I promise will be longer. Thanks for your comment.

Oh how he loved there games. He would miss them dearly after tonight, for this would be his little Starlings last game. He would allow her to play no more. He slowly walked down the land bridge, his heart pounding just as it had for the entirety of a year and a half. She had been the only person to cause his heart to flare into a heavy pounding this intensely if at all. He took a deep, invigorating breath of cold air, and started off in a steady (but abnormally elegant) jog back to his newly bought home, it's a shame he would have to sell it so soon, he didn't want to be connected to the body that closely, though he knew he would be the prime, first, and perhaps only suspect in her murder.

Clarice headed further into the corn stalks. It seemed to her as though she was venturing into the woods of the great fable Hansel and Gretal, imagining there would be an evil witch at the end of her journey, only she had no bread crumbs to be followed by and no one to keep her company. She was oddly entertained with the thought of Hannibal "the cannibal" Lecter being the witch of the story, wanting to boil her bones and eat her. She could see him clearly wearing a feathered witch's hat and a fake wart on his nose. A wicked smile fell upon her face, twisting her features in child like configuration. Suddenly the image turned into a crude Jack Crawford, holding a sickle, his cold shaded eyes mentally burning into her, causing her slight physical pain.

She almost wished Lecter was here, with her. "My life at the FBI's over anyway. I might as well run away with a monster." Her mind provoked. "No, no you don't starling, he would make it all worse" her mind chirped back, almost as if against itself, the voice resounded through her. Clarice ventured on further into the long stalks, suddenly aware of everything around her. Footsteps! She could hear footsteps drawing nearer to her. She listened to the soft patting of heavy feet on the soft, moistened ground. "Shit…" she whispered to herself as they drew closer, her mined racked her for an answer to the question pegging the corners of her mind, daring to slit them until the answer was discovered. Her mind went through this process in less than two seconds, out of habit. She finally decided and waited patiently for the sound to get three feet away from her.

He was still jogging when Clarice ran out before him, straight in his pathway. He had barely enough time and space to stop before he would hit her. Quickly he elegantly removed his harpy, ready to stop her how ever necessary. Clarice however did not stop and practically stabbed herself with his hand.

"So the plot thickens." His metallic voice seeped into her ears as quickly as the blood seeped from her hip. She looked down just in time to see him begin to twist the harpy's handle.

A/N: Ok once again I need some reviews. OR, I will go no further. Please I would like to know if you liked it or disliked it.

Ta- Qs


	5. The winded lambs

Disclaimer: I do not own and of these characters. They all belong to Mr. Harris. Not me. Ok.

Everything seemed to freeze in time, birds stopped in mid flight, the wind stopped suddenly, yet everything being affected by it remained leaning to the side, the only thing moving was her blood and her heart. She couldn't think, her mind was numb and empty. She looked up from the harpy, cringing in pain, she could feel the knife's on her hip bone. Those eyes. She stared into his maroon flecked eyes. "Lecter?' her voice chirped out as a child's. Now her mind caught up to her full blast. The first memory that her minds eye could catch hold of was one of when she was ten and a half years old. It was a year after she had first gone to the orphanage and had been sitting alone in the attic, (which was restricted) she had been there looking at an old sword she had found there only a month earlier, it was really more of a dagger. It was sleek and thin, its handle was a white color, she believed it to be ivory. The white handle was a beautifully carved angel, slightly leaning forwards, its wings wrapping around its waist and back, its head bowed in silence.

Suddenly she had heard a creak in the floor boards only about five feet away from where she sat on a heavy chest. She had stood and dropped the dagger. It had fallen on her foot and gone almost all the way through it. She was ripped back to reality with the extraction of the harpy from her side. She yelped out loud in pain, making the good doctor smile. She kept her gaze locked on his and began to slowly back up, her arms now clutching her wound. "Basterd" she managed to blurt out before turning and attempting to run away. She only got a few yards before crumbling to the ground, her knees folding under her. She coughed loudly and stood up, her heart pounding. Suddenly from behind she felt two hands grab her under the arms, like a father lifting a child. "A child." That was the only thing she could think of. "How does a child get away from a parent?" it hit her. She began to kick and thrash about; clawing away with all of her might at his hands, arms and legs. As she started to realize that wasn't going to work she began to scream at the top of her lungs, sending a vibe of pain through her abdomen and sides, racking her stab wound with sharp spikes of pain with each yell.

Yet she persisted in her screaming, yelling things out in the slightest hope of a near by household or person hearing her. Finally, when almost all the way out of the cornfield, Hannibal clamped his hand over her mouth, expecting a bite from his little Starling. And as though she had heard his thoughts she bit down, she could taste the blood on her tongue. She had expected it to sting for some reason, as though the cannibal's blood would be poison. She spat out as much mucus as possible onto Lecter's hand. His hand locked tighter around her jaw. "Now Clarice, that was very rude of you." His metallic voice rasped into her ear. "Muhh fuhh RUDE! Muhh rahhd crahh buffp!" she tried to yell through his hand, but was muffled to her false delight. "Oh great, ow! Now no one OW can hear me. Ow!" her mind poked. The only thing she could do was bite harder, so harder she bit, drawing even more blood onto her lips and tongue. Coating her throat with it. She began to cough loudly, the coughs sending sharp pains up and down her spine.

Then she hit the ground, the wind knocked out of her. He was standing above her letting his blood drip onto her forehead. "Tsk, tsk Clarice, I thought you were better than that, that is if you consider rubes as more developed than cannibals, but I never thought you would develop to this level, Special agent Starling, I never believed cannibalism would go along with your cheap shoes, and screaming lambs. Oh, Clarice, I almost forgot, have they stopped yet? The lambs I mean but I'm sure you already knew that." His small white smile cracking his cheeks, breaking down his complex face into a simple, heavily amused expression. With the last powerful burst of her strength she kicked his knee, knocking him on top of her. "Oh great starling, just get the cannibalistic, murderer on top of you. See what he does to me now." Her mind probed again. "Special agent Starling, if you wanted to play naughty you should have said something." His smile cracked again. "But we'll have to save it for later." He sighed, clamping his hand over her mouth once again, pushing her head into the mud. She shook herself, trying to get out from under him, but he just pressed more of his weight, until finally she lost all strength and gave up, lying motionless in the mud, his body keeping her warm as he lifted her from the ground. Her whole stomach along with his own was covered in blood. He needed to get her sown up, and fast.

A/N: 'Ello ok I need four reviews. (sorry its short again, but I like to leave some suspense. Till further writings-QS


	6. the crunch subfreeze

Disclaimer: I think you got the point from the last five chapters that I don't own them. So just go ahead and stick with that idea.

Just as he walked into the stunning, beautifully painted corridor of the gigantic country house it began to poor. The cool silver drops fell to the bewildered ground, freezing on contact and visibly tearing into the ground. As he walked further down the corridor the limp body in his arms began to stir, her face marked with mud and pain. "Shhh Clarice, calm yourself, shhhhh..." he whispered into her ear, admiring her beauty even through pain and mud, she would always be more beautiful than any other in his eyes, even as he would watch her die.

He thought about his feelings about her. Anger, interest, frustration, fear, joy...Love? No not love...... obsession? It was neither. He was not in love with her and felt no love for her...except as perhaps a fatherly or brotherly love...and this feeling was not quite obsession; true, he did think of her at least thirty seconds of everyday, often more. He often thought about her subconsciously, without realizing it and suddenly the thought of her lambs would cross his mind and he would realize she was on his mind, but other than that no, it couldn't be obsession.

Suddenly her body began to shiver violently in his arms, making his chest shake and his heart beat wearily. She was going into shock from blood loss and fear. His heart pounded in his chest. What was he doing? Could he really live with the memory of killing the only person who thought of him as sane, as a human, not the monster he was so believed to be by so many? His pace quickened and was almost in a full sprint as he finally made it to the back room of his home. The door of the room was tall and crimson in color; it looked as though it was colored with his Clarice's blood.

He quickly opened the door and shut it behind him. In the room was a silver, chilled steel surgeons table. The only covering on it was a thick white pillow to hold the patients head in a soft caress. Along the walls were surgical photos and Xrays. Also the walls were covered in plentiful cabinets concealing scalpels, needles, gloves and many other surgical utensils. He set Clarice's quivering body down on the cold steel with the care of a mother setting down an ill child, trying the best not to disturb the illness or arouse it further. He set her on her side and unzipped the back of the maroon dress that engulfed her in its plentiful yards of fabric; it revealed a blood stained red, thin, back. Her spine was very visible as she curled into a small ball, like a cat trying to stay warm on a cold floor.

He pressed a pressure point on her spine he knew would only hurt her enough to make her uncurl. It worked and he pulled the dress off from her feet. It slid off easily in the blood that seemed to incase her in its mass. For a brief moment she looked up at him, with all her strength she stared at him, her eyes cold and milky looking. Her lips pale and cracked. Then she was out. Her head slammed to the pillow. "Clarice?" his voice portrayed nothing but his mind was in pain. He reached to her wrist to feel her pulse. It was there and oddly strong for the situation. He also, to make sure and re assure himself, tilted his ear to her heart. It was beating just as strongly as her pulse revealed. He had thought he lost her. A smile crossed his face as he went to a near by cabinet and removed a scalpel. He began to carve at her side, trying to remove something... A small trace of blood sprayed to his face. Her lightly freckled face shone bright in the pale room, her lambs began to scream louder than ever, and her hands grasped another's, feeling cold steel in the mix and a sharp edge...

A/N; Yaya!!! Its longer!!! Wooo!! But anyway. If you guys think this chapter is of beat please tell me. I'm trying to decide if it fits myself. Ok I need five reviews or I will not finish...I will refuse to continue. I would like your comments. (good or bad) I hope you enjoyed. They are very helpful, thank you.

-Qs.

P.S. I love my mommy, daddy, and brother.


	7. Cruelty towards ants

Disclaimer: These characters are not the creation of my imagination, they have been thought up by Mr. Tomas Harris. The story is all my imagination and thought. So just don't copy it.

Elegant ball gowns and masks surrounded her in the pale light of the silver, candle lit chandeliers that hovered twenty feet above the dancers. The dancers around her were dressed elegantly in top hats and corsets. Each man was leading a lady in a waltz with one exception. A masked man in the further most corner of the room. Upon his face was set a fine wolves mask, its grey whiskers loomed above a ferocious snarling mouth. This man was the most elegantly dressed of them all. He wore a sleek black top hat and suit. His undershirt was a deep grey color and his tie was the color of blood.

He had spotted her from quite a distance; she was dressed breathtakingly in a fragile, deep blue, black and yellow dress; its sleeves reaching down to her middle fingers where they were attached by a single, ring like loop. Her reddish brown hair was tied in a bundle of braids that formed a profound bun. However he could not see her face, for she wore a white lambs mask, its off white color accentuated by her dress.

She could feel another's hand touching her own, along with the cool touch of metal. She looked down to her hands to find she was being given a gun. It was an old nineteenth century dueling pistol. She nodded to her masked accomplice that had handed it to her. She raised the fire arm to the ceiling and let one loud shot cry out. The floor of dancers immediately same to a halt as several screams sounded. Her line of vision drifted to the ceiling as it appeared to begin to unravel. She looked back into the crown for a moment, and then let another loud shot go once again into the ceiling. As soon as the impact became visible the rest of the room melted away from the top down, as though the dome like room had had paint tipped over it and as the paint slid down the sides of the room it changed.

She now stood in the center of a cold, damp, cement dungeon. She was back at the Baltimore institute for the criminally insane. Standing about several feet in front of her was Hannibal the cannibal Lecter. He stood at full height and seemed to tower over her. She found herself opening her mouth to speak, but his words came out. "How very slippery of you agent Starling…do you really think you can dissect me with this blunt little tool?" she mimicked her own accent. "No I was just hoping you cu-" her fathers voice came from the lips of a killer. She took control of her movements and words and began to walk forward as close as she could get to the glass that separated them.

"How did you do that?" her voice trailed off. "You've never met my father, he died before you could have, he was killed by people just like you!" her voice had raised to a scream. "Barney?" her father's voice boomed down the hall. "Coming Mr. Starling." Another voice answered, it echoed off of the walls and into her ears. Their was a loud clang as the big orderly, Barney, made his way to the cell. She watched him walk down the hall. He took a small book from "Mr." Starling and said "Thanks Robert"

"What?" her mind raced "Now for you Clarice, I'm sorry but I have to put your mask back on you for getting rambunctious." He stepped around the cell, the brown mouth guard in his hands. She once again lost control of her movements, however this time it was because of Barney. He held her cold hands behind her back in what seemed to be a death grip. With his Free hand he slid the mask over her face and tied it. He then let go of her hands and quickly scurried out of the cell, making sure to lock the door.

She could smell him; even feel his breath with the mask on. She coughed, trying to release all of the scent and air of the mask from her lungs. She felt gruesome and tired. She looked around the closed cell and decided the small metal cot would have to do. She lay down and began to close her eyes. So this was what it was like to be Hannibal Lecter…A single lamb screamed into eternity.

A/N: well i need reviews. Sorry it took so long for this chapter.

P.S. : i looove my perants and brother.


	8. Empty wounds and wooden floors

Disclaimer: These characters are of the mind of Thomas Harris. The story is of my own.

Silence held high above all else, emitting a haze into the ears and mind, sending the imagination off into a dark streak of ideas. All to be seen was a pale brown color that varied in shade as it moved along. Attention was upon none else than an entertained idea that threaded itself into every open space in the mind, every thought and imagined exchange. Cold and clouded were the thought of Hannibal Lecter. So many things about him drifted between truth and myth, lies and hopes, death and dreams. Clarice sat, her eyes set on the hardwood floor of the room she rested in. "Where am I?" she wondered out loud. She stood to stretch, a sharp pain ripping through her side. She slowly looked down to examine the wound that she knew had been sewn and aided. In "aw" she stared at her side. She had pulled up the side of her shirt revealing no wound, just pale unscarred skin. "What…..but he…." She traced her hand strongly around her hip bone as though the wound was unseen but could be felt. Nothing. She was untouched.

Suddenly a machine blasting like sound rattled her mind. The sound was soft and almost scratchy yet set apart and dissected in its sounding. Clarice looked up swiftly her surroundings suddenly becoming familiar to her. "Don't be modest, who else is clever enough to make my suit?" a smooth voice penetrated her ears. Her eyes followed the sound to its origin. Playing across her TV was a scene in which Jack and Sally spoke about the santy suit. The same seen in which she had been engrossed in just before Hannibal had come knocking. Suddenly another burst of raps flew to her ears from the front window. Her eyes grew wide in curiosity and fear. She swiftly made her way to the window her breath being held in her lungs, stale and sour. She slowly moved the curtains aside, expecting to see a tall dark figure but being met with a set of amber eyes familiar to her for the past two and a half years. She waved and moved to the door, opening it for her best friend and roommate Ardelia Mapp. Just as she hit the dead bolt she realized she had imagined and thought it all in less than two minutes, she had imagined his stare, the dress, the wound, the ball, the exchange from the cell; everything. She opened the door, her friend smiling as she walked in. A single thought resounded through her mind "You don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head"

FIN

A/N: Thank you for sticking with me to the end. I hope you enjoyed the story. Thank you.

Q.S.


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